Ryden Smut

For Other Meanings Of Tsunami, part 4/4

For Other Meanings Of Tsunami, part 3/4 By @ jocondite on LiveJournal http://jocondite.livejournal.com/126984.html

“Um,” Brendon says, blinking. “Dude. Ross.”

Ryan doesn’t look up from his book, but the tilt of his head betrays inquisitiveness. His legs are folded under him lotus-style, and he’s still wearing Spencer’s old hoodie.

“Ryan,” Brendon repeats, louder, “Ryan, can you explain to me why I have a death threat from Pete Wentz on my ‘kick?”
On the plasma screen, Spencer’s car crashes into a barrier in a fiery cloud of orange. Jon’s actually starts going backwards. Brendon would find it funny, if it wasn’t for the misspelled, poorly punctuated message which seems to be prophesying his doom.

“Um.” Ryan keeps his head lowered, still apparently absorbed in his book. “Don’t know. It’s Pete?”

“It’s Pete,” Brendon agrees, “and he’s sent me a message saying that he wants to – okay, it’s not actually, technically, a death threat, but, you know, I can read between the lines. He’s at least saying straight out that he wants to kick my ass, and I’m like, what have I done? Ryan.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Ryan mumbles.

“Do that,” Spencer chimes in, “he can’t kill Brendon now, we’d have to refund people for the rest of the tour.”

“Oh, hey, my life has value in and of itself. Right, Jon? Back me up.”

Jon holds his hands up. “I’m so not getting involved in this, guys.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Ryan repeats a little more clearly, “he must have misunderstood something.”

Spencer snorts.

* * *

When they stop on the way to Seattle, it’s supposed to be just to quickly refuel. But once they’ve stopped, Jon jogs off to talk to the driver, and when he comes back, he reports “Hey, we’re stopping for maybe half an hour, guys. He wants to go and get something to eat, and I told him that that’s cool, we could all use an opportunity to stretch our legs, right? Right.”

“I want my bike,” Spencer says. “Jon, you’re my favorite,” and Brendon has to admire the way Spencer convinces Zack and Jon to unload it for him before Zack disappears, following their driver inside into the warmth and succor of the truck stop. It’s masterfully done, and Brendon can totally appreciate the coercion skills of a master.

“So, are we going inside?” he asks. It’s not snowing, but it’s grey and bleak, and he’s suddenly grateful for his scarf, the way its chunky grey and black wool snuggles against his throat.

“In a bit,” Jon promises, as Spencer swings a leg over the saddle of his bicycle. “Spencer wants to ride some first. And I was thinking, Tom and I were thinking, about maybe taking some photos. That’s cool, right?”

Brendon nods, and Ryan says softly, “Yeah.” His arms are wrapped around his narrow ribcage, and Brendon slings a friendly, warming arm over his shoulder. Ryan stiffens, but he doesn’t shrug him off, and then they’re blinking as Tom’s camera flashes, the awkward moment digitally preserved in bits and pixels. Ryan steps away.

It flashes again, capturing Spencer riding his bike around and around the parking lot in triumph, cheeks pink from the cold; Jon and Spencer tussling over the handlebars as Jon tries to grab them, stop him, laughing. Ryan biting his lip, smiling when Spencer lifts one, both hands from the handlebars, making dual victory signs as the front wheel wobbles unsteadily; Brendon leaning against the side of the bus, watching.